


Double Trouble

by MarInk



Series: Double Trouble (And Then Some) [1]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: About as fluffy as I'm ever gonna be able to write, Anal Fingering, Barry Allen Is A Human Vibrator, Barry Allen-centric, Crack, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff, Hermaphrodite!Barry, M/M, Masturbation, Mpreg, Porn, Vaginal Sex, Valiant attempts at humor, blowjob, meta of the week, not meant to be taken seriously, pure self-indulgence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:45:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22373095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarInk/pseuds/MarInk
Summary: Barry puts his foot in his mouth (metaphorically). Then there are other things put inside him (literally) that are decidedly more enjoyable.Both of these occurrences have consequences.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Leonard Snart
Series: Double Trouble (And Then Some) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671124
Comments: 27
Kudos: 257





	Double Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Please make sure you read the tags before you run headfirst into a wall of squick. And I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it.

Okay, the thing was, Barry didn't mean it like _that_. It's just, the only woman he clearly remembers growing up next to is Iris, and she is deadly when on her period. Like, lethal glares and knife-like barbs, a certain chance of bodily harm deadly. Barry doesn't want to die. He has been known to carry strategic reserves of chocolate and ibuprofen around in his pockets at those times of month so he could escape while Iris was distracted.

And yes, he took a med course in college and he knows that every woman is different, but this meta is so cranky that he can't help but compare. If you look at it this way, it's all Iris’s fault, really.

"You fucking moron in leather," the meta hisses. "Stay still, motherfucker, so I can grow another mouth in your ass!"

It's really an unfair thing to say. Barry took her loot bag from her, so he's at least smart enough to fight crime as far as she knows.

He slows to a standstill - at a reasonable distance, of course, because he is not actually a _moron_, thank you very much. She can only transform people's bodies when she touches them.

"Look, why don't we calm down and talk it out?" he offers. "If you are hungry, I have a protein bar that tastes like chocolate?"

Cisco makes some of the bars super squished so they'd fit into a pocket on his skin-tight suit (what kind of firemen was Cisco developing the suit for originally, anyway? All firemen Barry has ever seen were much musclier). And some do taste like chocolate, albeit the crappy kind.

"Offer a snack to your villain - saving the world has never been so delicious!" Cisco quips on the comms. "Maybe I need to mass-produce these. Hey, Barry, how about starring in an ad or two for my bars? 5% of the profit is yours!"

Barry would like to point out that this cut is outrageously low for an exclusive Flash sponsorship, but he is a bit busy at the moment. He is reaching a hand with a protein bar towards the meta, hoping she'll relent and take it, and food will make everything better. It always does for him, especially now that the Speed Force turned his stomach into a bottomless pit.

Then Barry makes a horrendous mistake of saying the following:

"You are, uhm, maybe, probably on your period? The chocolate might help."

He hears Caitlin inhaling sharply through the comms, just like she does sometimes when he miscalculates on the treadmill and hits the wall with a thud and a crunch after leaving a Barry-shaped hole in the stack of cardboard boxes.

Meta's eyes narrow.

"I'll show you period." She says it lowly and menacingly, like she really, really means it.

She grabs his hand and he panics for a brief second which is enough for her to jerk him forward by the wrist and slap his bare cheek with her free hand.

A heavy warm wave radiates throughout his body from the point of contact. It doesn't hurt but he is in a daze, sluggish and half-aware as if he has just blinked his eyes open in the morning and hasn't decided if he's actually awake yet.

The confusion lasts long enough for the meta to grab the loot back and run.

Barry isn't ashamed to admit that, as soon as he comes to his senses, the first thing he does is move his hand down to his ass and check if there are any unauthorized mouths in the vicinity. There are none, for which he is grateful.

He tries to get up but it takes him a couple of tries because he can't find his balance properly. Something is wrong with his center of gravity, and a gnawing suspicion is born in Barry's mind.

Maybe the meta had a point there, and he is a bit of a moron after all.

* * *

"The best conclusion I can come to at this moment is that she wanted to turn you into a woman but her powers conflicted with the Speed Force in your body," Caitlin says, looking morbidly fascinated. "So now you appear to have two sets of reproductive organs, one male and one female. Both in perfect working order from what I can see without specialized tests."

Barry contains the urge to take off his Star Labs sweatpants and inspect the area himself.

"Duuuude," Cisco says. "Or not dude? Dudette? What's the gender-inclusive word for dude? Are you gonna change pronouns?"

"'He' is fine," Barry says faintly. He wonders if this is reversible, and if not, whether he'll have to apply for a new set of papers because every license he owns states that he is male.

Caitlin frowns at the screen of her tablet.

"Let me draw some blood, and I'll see if there's any antidote to this. Although, with the way your powers clashed with hers, it may take me a while to synthesize anything viable..."

The words "a while" never sounded so sinister.

Caitlin glances at Barry and takes pity at the horrified look on his face.

"Go home," she suggests gently. "Get some rest."

Barry follows her advice. Running is awkward now that there is even more... stuff... down there, and he used to think balls alone were complicated to navigate. Now that he knows there is something else right behind them, he can feel it very clearly. It’s a completely alien sensation, and he’s running and freaking out, running and freaking out.

He phases through his front door and then right out of his clothing - a trick he never really performed before but now he just has to, has to reassure himself that whatever this is, it hasn’t affected his powers. The clothes flutter to the floor, and Barry walks into the bathroom. Gingerly.

He has never been so happy that Joe is working the night shift. He can’t imagine explaining the whole thing to Joe right now.

Barry hops into the shower, switches the water on and perches on the edge of the tub. Alone, with only the sound of water hitting the tub incessantly, he slips one hand between his legs.

The first set of reproductive organs, as Caitlin has put it, is very familiar. He’s been intimately acquainted with it for the last twenty-five years, and he’s relieved to see and feel that they didn’t change.

He moves his fingers further down, behind the ballsack, and he feels... it.

Vagina, Barry thinks in a fit of stubbornness. If you have it, you should be able to name it, dammit.

He touches the folds, and the feeling is pretty similar to the one he experienced when touching women, except that he can not only feel with his fingers now, but also with his... vagina, yes. He can say it. He’s a superhero. He is not afraid of a measly little word, even if it seems all full of itself with its fancy Latin origin.

It feels weird, all wet and soft and complicated in a way his cock isn’t.

He slips his fingers deeper in and they brush against something that makes him shiver all over.

It is and it isn’t the same as touching the male set. Granted, he is still more freaking out than exploring at his leisure, but it’s nice nonetheless. He rubs one finger in a circle, gently, and feels the clitoris pulse slightly, heat pooling low in his body. His cock also twitches in response, but it’s less acute there since he’s not touching it.

He rubs some more, trying to come at it higher or lower, from different sides, and the fingers of his free hand clutch the edge of the tub so tightly that they lose all sensation.

It’s good, so good, and he forgets he’s been freaking out for a minute and lets himself enjoy it.

He’s using two fingers now, and it’s awkward but he’s feeling greedy, he wants more of this. Yet further down and deeper inside him, he feels something clench, and the feeling is sweet and languid, and Barry wishes he had a sex toy with him right now to try and fit it in. He’s experimented with the other orifice in the area quite a lot but this, this is new. Different.

He tries to get his two fingers inside, but he’s too tight for that. Only one finger fits and Barry’s body is hugging it like the softest, warmest, slickest glove in the world. Yes, he’s producing his own slick now. No need for lube.

It’s freaky, is what it is, but he kind of likes it and feels so very deliciously dirty thinking about it.

It’s a bit easier to work himself open here than what Barry’s used to, and Barry gets the second finger it soon enough, toes curling, but nah-ah - now the clitoris is not happy with it. The same way the cock is if Barry ignores it in favor of managing the toy of the hour. 

He spreads his legs wider and plants his feet in the wet tub as firmly as he can, then he lets go of the edge and brings his second hand into the game.

Barry is not ambidextrous, and the veritable tsunami of new sensations is messing up with his ability to concentrate but he wants, he gasps, he moans fucking himself with his fingers, the other hand rubbing at the clitoris. It’s now swollen and pulsing even stronger, and Barry’s cock is hard as rock, leaving smears of precum on his belly.

God, he wishes he had four hands - to touch everything and to fill every hole. He’s never felt more disappointed by human imperfection.

He slips down into the tub, knees hitting the ceramic a bit painfully but he has better access now and he is frantic, rubbing and caressing and petting and thrusting and pumping and he knows he hasn’t prepared himself at all but he gets a finger in his ass to and clenches around it, and everything sort of clenches along, and it’s. So. Good. He’s rough and impatient now, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open, heaving uneven gulps of air, and the sensations are electrifying in every sense of the word.

He feels lightning running across his skin and the tidal wave of pleasure covers him head to toe, cock shooting long thick streaks of cum, his fingers still chasing the last throbs of the orgasm the likes of which he hasn’t felt before. Hands on his respective, uh, reproductive sets, still working through the last of it, he leans against the cool tile of the wall, trying to catch his breath.

It’s the most bizarre thing that has ever happened to him. It’s also the most wonderful one, and the endorphin-riddled goo that is Barry’s brain wonders if he should send the meta a gift basket.

He takes a proper shower after all, and as he cleans himself off, he can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have another person here with him. There would be the solution to missing another pair of hands, right?

Too bad no one can know, and those who do, he doesn’t think of that way, and they don’t think of him like that as well.

He finishes his shower, shuffles off to the bedroom, still jelly-legged after the double orgasm, and gets his toy box out of his sock drawer. Time to experiment some more.

* * *

It is not Barry’s day. First, he overslept for like an hour, and no superspeed could help him get to work on time. Second, he didn’t have time for food or coffee, and no one even came to visit him and bring him lunch, which okay, no one is obliged to, but he is so hungry. He is hungry enough that he is contemplating flashing away from his very urgent report and half a dozen reaction brewing, raiding a Big Belly Burger joint (he’d leave money on the counter, of course) and coming right back.

It would be very stupid, he knows. But he is so, so hungry.

His stomach growls, and he promises it a late lunch as soon as the report is done.

It’s not done by the moment officer Gonzales sticks his head into the lab and says:

“Allen, a crime scene. Get your kit.”

Why, Barry wonders as he shoulders his kit and hurries out after Gonzales, doesn’t CCPD have another CSI, someone to pick up crime scenes while Barry can have his first meal in the last nineteen hours? What were they even doing while he was in a coma? The lab looked untouched when he came back, and even if they called for a temporary replacement that went away the moment Barry woke up, there should have been something. Chemicals shelved differently. A stack or two of reports that Barry didn’t write. An unfamiliar name autofilling the login field on his computer. There was nothing, nada, zilch.

Honestly, if they could do without him for nine months, couldn’t they wait for like half an hour now?

Barry is ashamed of his uncharitable thoughts as he arrives at the crime scene in the (incredibly slow) police car and sees Joe and Eddie looking tired and pinched. He’s not the only one putting his personal comfort aside to protect this city, honestly.

He jogs up to them, valiantly ignoring how different it still feels and being very, very thankful that his rapid healing got rid of all the soreness from last night, and smiles at them.

“What have we got?”

What they’ve got is a burglary gone wrong: the people that owned this place are dead, a husband and a wife, and the burglar tried to make it look like a murder-suicide with a preceding fight. But Barry knows better, Barry sees patterns and traces and random bits and pieces that tell him the truth. One thing Barry knows is that he is a good CSI; he didn’t just go into the field to help Dad get out of prison one day, he thrives on it, he loves it. Blood spatter, DNA analysis, tire tracks, footprints, you name it, he knows what to do with it all and they always tell him how it really happened.

Hunger forgotten, Barry documents the scene and bags samples and describes exactly how the whole mess went down to Joe and Eddie, and before he knows, it’s 9PM and he still hasn’t eaten a single bite and he now has even more reports to finish and evidence to process.

It’s close to eleven PM when he gets out of the precinct, loads of work that can wait until morning left behind. He's broken a beaker and spilled chemicals on a freshly printed report. The single-minded focus he gets when he’s working a scene is gone, and right now he only wishes to forget his work for a little while and for some food to make his stomach unglue from his spine. Then maybe a shower, without any shenanigans even, and some sleep.

A small cafe still working despite the late hour attracts his eye and he comes inside, led not so much by the garish neon sign above the door as by the strong smell of spices he could feel from the outside. Inside, the air is soaked in it, spices and grease and heat, and Barry swallows a ton of saliva. It’s an Asian place, Indian or Pakistani, Barry’s not sure - his cooking prowess starts and ends with the classic American breakfast foods - but he knows it’s delicious.

He orders ten different dishes, one to eat here and nine to go, to avoid suspicion. As he waits for the takeout to be ready, a surly-looking Asian woman brings him a huge plate of rice and chicken in rich, spicy curry sauce, with some vegetables on the side and it’s all Barry can do not to speed-eat.

His attention is fully on his plastic spoon as he tries not to drop a chunk of chicken on his pants, when someone sits down across from him. Lips wrapped around the spoon, Barry glances across the table to maybe nod to this person or attempt a friendly smile and the chicken gets stuck in his throat.

Across the table, in his complete parka-clad smirking glory, is Captain Cold himself.

Barry chokes on the chicken and starts coughing.

“Who knew that to get rid of you I only needed to startle you when you are eating,” Cold says. Even if Barry didn’t see the infuriating smirk, he’d hear it in the mocking drawl of Cold’s voice.

Barry’s throat is spasming, and he is contemplating phasing through the darned chicken, secret identity be damned when he finally manages to get it down.

“Can you not... try to... kill me when... I’m eating,” Barry gets out raspily.

“Oh, so any other time is fair game?” Cold cocks an eyebrow. “Good to know, Scarlet.”

That nickname is ridiculous. Cold is ridiculous. Supervillainy in a tiny cafe with plastic spoons and plaid curtains is completely ridiculous. Annoyed, Barry stabs the next piece of chicken with the spoon, using maybe too much force, aaaand... yep. It lands on his pants.

Stupid day. Barry is ready for it to be over.

“What do you want?” he asks.

Maybe he can solve all the problems one by one. First, make his nemesis go away, somewhere Barry isn’t. Second, finish eating and grab the takeout. Third, get home, wash the pants in a futile hope to get rid of the greasy stain and eat some more. See, he can adult with the best of them.

“Just wanted to catch up with you, Barry. How’ve you been?” Cold is looking at Barry funny. To start with, he’s not even looking Barry in the face, rather in the direction of Barry’s chest, and there’s nothing interesting there at all. Well, Barry thinks the subtle dark gray pattern on his light gray button-down is very interesting, but he doubts Cold is here to admire Barry’s fashion sense.

“Peachy,” he says. “And you? Robbing, thieving? Same old?”

“You know me too well, Barry.” Cold grins. The grin makes him look less hard-edged, more approachable. Barry likes it even though he knows it’s an illusion. “You, on the other hand, lead a very interesting life from what I’ve heard.”

“Heard, huh? Who have you been talking to?” Barry narrows his eyes at Cold. The stern effect he is going for is probably ruined by the pile of rice with curry that he just shoveled into his mouth and that he feels is making him look like a chipmunk, but whatever. He can eat and be badass at the same time. He is good at multitasking.

“I ran into Mona this afternoon.”

“Mona?”

“I believe you met her just yesterday. Pretty, ambitious, morally unhindered and very bad-tempered?”

Oh, yeah. He met someone like that yesterday, alright. The description fits the meta to a tee, especially the bad-tempered part. Barry can see now how what he blurted out was offensive but her retaliation was a bit excessive, no? She could have just slapped him or something.

“So what did she tell you?”

“That you should now be not Barry, per se, but Barrette?”

Barry makes a face at Cold.

“That’s not even a human name.”

“Why not? It sounds French to me. I bet it’s a real name.” Cold’s eyes sparkle with mirth, and Barry’s mouth suddenly feels dry all over when he looks Cold in the face, that gorgeous, slightly exotic face with a charming smile that seems to genuinely reach his eyes.

Oh, no. Full stop. No going there. Bad Barry! Cold is attractive, yes, and Barry entertained a thought or two about it before but, you know, what happens in the shower, stays in the shower.

Too bad that now it feels like he is doubly attracted, both male and female parts very interested in the fine specimen of Homo Criminalus sitting in front of him. A dangerous territory to wade into, in more ways than one.

“Anyway, I’m not changing my name,” Barry rolls his eyes. “And I’m not a woman, no matter what Mona says.”

“Didn’t her powers work?” Cold glances at Barry’s chest again, and now Barry realizes why.

He flicks a bit of curry into Cold’s face.

“Hey! My eyes are up here.”

He’s never said that before but it sounds snappy. Barry likes it.

Cold blinks at him, making no move to wipe the curry blob off his cheek.

“My apologies,” he says, and there’s that smirk again. “Why so defensive, though? Is there something to look at after all?”

Barry flushes.

“First of all, I don’t have female breasts, and second of all, if you came here to tell me how I’m nothing to look at unless a meta grows some on me, then you can get the hell out.”

He looks in the direction of the kitchen but no one is coming with a bag for him, and he regrets ordering so much. They are probably still ladling it all into containers, nowhere near done.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Cold says, and this time he sounds serious. Barry glances at him through eyelashes sullenly, the insult still stinging - maybe he’s nothing to write home about but it doesn’t mean he wants it pointed out like this - and there’s no smirk this time.

Cold looks like he regrets saying that. Barry knows that Cold is a criminal and a liar, but he is willing to give an inch here, seeing that serious face.

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of that going around,” he mumbles and stuffs his mouth with more food to give himself a convenient excuse not to talk.

“It’s stupid for you to be insecure, you know,” Cold adds in a conversational tone. “You are... very attractive indeed, Barry Allen.”

Barry looks at the chicken and pretends it’s the spices that make his cheeks grow red.

“Stop trying to get into my head,” he demands. “So, you know now. You can go back and tell Mona that her powers must have been on the fritz.”

“They didn’t work at all?” Cold sounds intrigued. “I’ve seen her in action, on the news. She definitely didn’t look like she suffered from any performance issues.”

“They, ahm, partially worked,” Barry admits.

He regrets saying that as soon as it leaves his mouth, and he knows that it was only because he is tired and still hungry and drunk on the stuffy warmth here in the cafe, and the unexpected compliment from Cold messed with his head. Enemies aren’t supposed to tell you you’re attractive. It’s cheating.

“Partially?” Cold echoes.

In for a penny, in for a pound, right? Even if he spills the beans, there’s hardly a way Cold can use it to his advantage in a fight. Barry can’t imagine that having a vagina would make him more susceptible to the cold gun or something.

“I have male and female, erm, parts, now. I guess for the moment I’m a hermaphrodite? Just until we come up with an antidote.”

“Fascinating,” Cold says, and his voice is low, eyes dark and intent.

Barry tries to eat but under Cold’s scrutiny he is afraid the next piece of chicken might actually kill him.

“What?” he asks, irritated.

Cold reaches across the table and covers Barry’s hand, the one not holding the spoon, with his own. Cold’s hand is surprisingly warm, pads of his fingers slightly calloused.

“Fascinating,” he repeats.

“What - what is fascinating?” Barry feels like a deer in the headlights. He can’t move from shock, or he’d take his hand away. Honestly.

“You are.” Cold says.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” It comes out as a squeak. A very manly squeak. A hermaphrodite-y one? Anyway, a very brave and heroic squeak, and that’s all that matters.

“Depends. Is it working?”

Barry can’t believe that Cold is using the cheesiest flirtatious comeback in the world on him and it’s actually _working_.

You are a sucker, Barry Allen, that’s what you are, he tells himself. He still hasn’t freed his hand despite Cold not even trying to force it down, so yeah, he probably is.

"Forgive my directness, Barry," Cold lowers his voice even further, barely discernible over the din of the cafe. "But would you like to explore your newfound horizons with me? A five-star hotel room, strawberries and champagne?"

"I already told you I'm not a woman," Barry points out. It's not a no, and he is very much aware of the fact.

Cold shrugs.

"I might've thought about laying you out on a king-sized bag and licking whipped cream off of you back when I first saw you. And believe me, your suit is tight enough not to leave a lot of secrets about your gender."

Barry blushes. Maybe he should have a talk with Cisco about the fit of the suit. He isn't sure how he feels about his villains appreciating the view while he tries to apprehend them.

Also, Barry is very horny and as far as nefarious plans go, this doesn't look like much of one. And if Oliver can have flings with villains, there's no reason why Barry can't, especially when the villain in question is charming, and witty, and smart, and sexy, and yeah, the age difference probably translates into a lot of experience. Not to mention that Cold already knows he's the Flash, so there's no risk of giving his identity away with vibrations. When else is Barry gonna find someone like that interested in him?

Still, it's a very, very bad idea that Barry feels he shouldn't just jump into so he decides to test Cold's interest a bit. He turns over his hand that's under Cold's, intertwines their fingers, leans forward and says nonchalantly:

"Did you know that I can, individually or all at once, vibrate at will every part of my body?"

This, he knows, is something one can only get with a speedster, and it's not like there are too many of those around. He does it regularly on his solo sessions and no toy can ever come close.

Barry looks at Cold for reaction, and oh. If he thought the man looked hungry for it before, it's nothing compared to the sheer unabashed want written all over Cold's face now. It's definitely a nefarious intention there, but targeted towards the most nefarious ways of fucking Barry's brains out rather than killing or otherwise incapacitating him.

"What do you say we get out of here, Scarlet?" Cold asks, sounding hoarse. "Find a cozy place to get to know each other better... right now."

The ball is in Barry's court now, and he doesn't hesitate to send it right back.

"Let's go."

With impeccable timing, the surly woman plops Barry's takeout bags on the table between then. He has forgotten all about these already, to be honest.

He takes the bags with him because he suspects that if he takes the time - however short - to drop them off at home, he'll chicken out, talk himself out of going and he doesn't want to do that. Every part of him just _tingles_ at the thought of spending the night with Cold, the danger and the stupidity of the idea only adding to the thrill.

Cold whispers the address of the closest Plaza hotel in Barry's ear, and there's really no reason for him to do so except to send shivers down Barry's spine when his lips almost, just about touch Barry's earlobe. Barry speeds them there, arms tight around Cold.

The check-in is somewhat sobering. They don't have a reservation, and the receptionist recognizes Cold from TV because of course she does. Barry has to intervene, putting on his best kicked puppy look before she hits the panic button, and pleads with her to just give them a room for the night. It has to be in his name and Cold pays in advance with cash - maybe slightly more than required but Barry is content turning a blind eye to it just this once - but she reluctantly agrees. Barry contains his fist-pump but it's a close call.

In the elevator, Barry contemplates picking Cold up again and running them both up the elevator shaft to save time but Cold distracts him, settling his hands on Barry's cheeks and kissing him deeply.

The kiss makes him tremble with anticipation. Cold's lips are firm and warm, confident and insistent. Barry fights him for control of the kiss, tongue running along the seam of his lips and Cold lets him but it's a false surrender because when their tongues touch, Barry's knees feel decidedly weaker. They devour each other, the kiss becoming rougher by the second, Barry's back pressed to the wall, and he can feel Cold's lean, strong body alongside his own. The flaps of unzipped parka cover them both, warm but smelling like winter and like Cold, and Barry moans into the kiss, arches forward, desperate for friction, any friction.

Cold breaks the kiss and Barry whines, trying to chase his lips for more.

"We've arrived, Barry," he says with a chuckle.

Right. Elevator. It doesn’t have a bed so there’s no point in sticking around in here any longer.

They walk to their room still kissing, hands sliding in under clothing, and it’s an awkward walk but they manage. Barry would have flashed them over but there might be cameras in the hallway. Cold swipes the keycard, and they are finally in private.

The room is lavish and huge but Barry doesn’t pay it any mind, grabbing Cold and depositing him on the bed. In less time than it takes to blink Cold is sprawled on the comforter, Barry above him on all fours, leaning in for a kiss.

He likes how Cold is game, despite the speeding, and just accepts the kiss, one hand on the back of Barry’s head, fingers digging into Barry’s hair and rubbing his sensitive scalp. It’s as if there are streaks of pure desire coming off of Cold’s fingers and whooshing through Barry. He whimpers into the kiss, torn between pushing into the hand and kissing Cold even deeper. It has been very long since he last had proper sex, and his speedster libido is through the roof, so sue him. He wants it desperately.

Cold stops the kiss and flips them over so that he is now on top of Barry. Of course, Barry saw that coming a mile away but he figures he had a little payback coming his way for all the manhandling he’s done to Cold tonight. Besides, it feels good to grin at Cold and wordlessly arch up, baring his neck for kisses, and yessss, Cold goes for it. He nips at Barry’s pulse point sharply and soothes the bite with his tongue, then sets to sucking a hickey in. Barry lets him. It’s gonna heal by morning without a trace, and also, every little shift of Cold’s lips sends sharp jolts to Barry’s cock and clitoris both.

“Off,” he demands, pushing at the parka. It’s bulky and its place is not in bed, seriously. He wants to get to Cold’s skin too, explore it with touches and kisses. His mouth waters when he thinks about kissing down Cold’s body and enveloping his hard cock with vibrating lips and tongue, and letting Cold thrust into Barry’s mouth as much as he wants...

Barry can’t take it anymore. Between the onslaught on his neck and all the plans for near future he is painfully hard and soaking wet. Incoherent moans spill from his lips as he writhes under Cold, rubbing against the man’s thigh, uncaring which part of him gets the contact as long as at least one does. He feels a hand landing on his stomach, going lower, undoing the button and the zipper of his pants.

Cold slips that wonderful hand inside Barry’s underwear and gives his cock a few tight, sharp tugs. Barry positively mewls. He'd be embarrassed about it if Cold didn't seem to appreciate it, kissing all the garbled sounds right off his lips.

"Please," Barry begs. "Please, Cold..."

"I've got my hand down your pants, Barry," Cold points out. "You can call me Len."

That is fair. Barry pulls Cold - Len - down into a bruising kiss and begs again:

"Make me come, Len, please, I wanna come..."

"So soon? We only just started," Len purrs.

His hand goes lower and one finger slides between the folds. It's so hot inside there, it's like Barry's on fire. Len moves his finger in unhurried circles, stoking the fire.

"I got no refractory period," Barry moans and presses his thighs together, trapping Len's hand there, hips thrusting haphazardly up. He is already on the brink. "Need to take the edge off... will be ready go again right away..."

"Well, in that case..."

And with these words, Len starts a full-on assault. He is kissing Barry's neck and rubbing him with his fingers at a fast, brutal pace that makes Barry see some stars even before he actually comes. Barry's cock is caught in the little space between Len's arm and parka's sleeve and it might not be ideal but it's more than good enough. Barry's breath hitches, and he vibrates all over, helpless with it, pleasure overwhelming him. He comes so hard and for so long because Len just keeps going, not even slowing down, and every movement is a spark in the darkness behind Barry's eyelids that had fluttered shut.

"Len," he sobs out.

"Yes, Scarlet?"

"Fuck me," he asks. "Fuck me hard."

There's a startled groan, and then Len's lips and hand leave Barry. He cracks his eyes open and props himself up on his elbows, watching Len shed the parka, the pants, the sweater, the shoes and the socks, the underwear. The sleeveless undershirt stays on, and Barry can see a few jagged scars that disappear under it so he doesn't ask Len to remove it. If Len has some secrets he wants to keep from Barry, that's totally his right.

"What about you?" Len's voice breaks Barry out of his reverie and he realizes that, unzipped pants aside, he is still fully clothed himself. He takes care of it with a zing of lightning, and then he is back on the bed in much the same position.

Without the cloth barrier in place, he feels a little self-conscious. It's not, after all, a very ordinary and normal thing to have what he does down there. He keeps his legs together and looks away from Len.

"Hey," Len perches on the bed next to him and settles a hand on Barry's knee. "Don't go all shy on me, Barry. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

Barry sighs. It's silly that he needs to be coaxed out of his shyness in order for them to do what he explicitly asked for. He is a grown man and a superhero, isn't he? Besides, Len didn't seem to mind when he touched Barry all over just now.

He flops on his back and slowly spreads his legs. Bolstered by the fire in Len's eyes, he hooks his hands under his knees and pulls his legs upwards until they are pressed to his torso, giving Len an unfettered view.

He sneaks a peak at Len's face that has an exhilaratingly predatory expression on it, at Len's cock which is whoa, long and thick and very, very hard for Barry. It's curving slightly towards Len's stomach and there's precum on the tip that Barry wants to touch. If his hands weren't busy, he'd do just that.

"You are gorgeous, Scarlet," Len tells him, voice low. "All open for me like this. I can see how much you want me."

Barry's cock twitches visibly at this, and without any warning Len takes him in his mouth, deep and hot and tight and Barry bucks into it, unable to help himself. Len swallows him to the root and slides a finder inside Barry. He clenches around it, and Len adds another finger - this one in Barry's ass.

Barry shivers all over. He is so tight that one finger everywhere feels enough but at the same time he wants more. 

Len is unfairly good at what he's doing, even though it has to be at least a bit of uncharted territory for him. Barry lets go of his knees, plants his feet on the bed and pushes forward, meeting Len's mouth and fingers, trying hard to keep himself in check because he doesn't want to choke Len.

Len lets Barry fuck his throat for several long, glorious minutes. Somehow he got two fingers together in Barry's vagina, and he is scissoring them gently, thumb rubbing those maddening circles, and Barry sobs from the waves of sensation, pleading for more, more, please, he can take it-

Len lets his cock go with an obscene popping sound and moves lower, where his thumb has just been. Somehow, it's more sensitive there, Barry can feel every little bit of detail in the texture of Len's lips and tongue, licking into him firmly and quickly. Barry imagines his own slick on Len's lips and comes with a shout.

Len hums in approval and Barry whimpers, hardening and throbbing again immediately. Maybe Len _is_ planning to kill him after all. With sex.

But what a way to go, though.

A third finger slips in. Barry is stretched around it but he wants more. He wants that cock. Preferably before he passes out from the sheer intensity of the orgasms that Len is wringing out of him one after another.

"Want your cock," he gasps. "Inside me, Len."

"Happy to oblige," Len grins. "First things first though, Scarlet - you got a condom?"

"Yeah, in my wallet. Wait a sec."

He flashes off the bed to where his pants are lying discarded and fishes the condom out of his wallet. Hopefully, it's not expired yet. He's back on the bed, taking Len's fingers in with one smooth push of his pelvis before the man has had the time to take his next breath.

"Here." Barry tosses the condom to Len.

Len has to withdraw his hands away from Barry in order to put the condom on, and Barry retaliates by vibrating his fingers and putting them on himself. He's watching Len roll the condom down that beautiful big cock and feels his insides clench in anticipation.

"Having a good time without me, Barry?" Len chides jokingly.

"Have to pass the time somehow if you abandon me," Barry banters back. "I must say, the time could be even better if you joined me after all."

"In that case, who am I to pass up on the opportunity to improve your evening?" Len implores, one eyebrow raised. Barry wants to kiss that eyebrow.

“C’mon, sit up,” Len says.

Barry does as asked, intrigued. Len scoots over on the bed until his back is to the headboard and pats his own lap.

“Come have a seat?” He smirks as he says that.

Barry straddles him, their cocks aligning and rubbing together, and kisses the smirk right off Len’s lips.

As they kiss, Len moves his hands underneath Barry’s ass and tugs him upward a little bit. Barry lifts himself, wraps one arm around Len for better leverage and guides Len’s cock inside.

It slides in smoothly but Barry, for once in his life, goes slow. It’s so big, or maybe Barry’s so tight, he feels full to the brim even though Len’s not all in yet. His heart is racing, his nerve endings are singing, he is clinging to Len and devastatingly slowly, quarter-inch by quarter-inch, lowering himself on Len’s cock.

He exhales when he is fully seated. He’s a bit afraid to move because he feels like if he does, he might burst. It doesn’t hurt, per se, but the stretch is so much, so unbelievable that Barry just breathes and tries to get used to it. Len is kissing his neck, murmuring something sweet and filthy. One of Len’s hands strokes Barry’s back, going down, down until it reaches Barry’s ass and two fingers find his prostate.

Barry vibrates. He can’t help it, he’s overwhelmed with it, with Len in him, around him, everywhere. Len moans, low and helpless, and kisses Barry hungrily. Barry kisses back and experimentally lifts himself a little bit higher, then settles back down. He loves experimenting, he’s a scientist, after all.

A wave of scorching pleasure rocks through him. He whimpers against Len’s lips and lifts himself up again. And again. And again.

“Yes, Barry, just like this,” Len whispers into Barry’s skin. “Ride me, Barry, yes, come on.”

Barry sobs with the intensity of it and goes faster and faster, slamming himself down on Len’s cock, chasing every bit of pleasure it can offer. Len’s fingers in Barry’s ass match the pace, and Barry is all shivers and vibrations and choked gasps and an all-encompassing sensation of being pounded so thoroughly that his toes curl.

He finds Len’s lips again for a biting, rough kiss, and Len is urging him to go harder, faster, take it, and oh, is he ever taking it, shaking and moaning, vibrations constant as he comes without being touched where it throbs and demands attention the most. Len swears in his ear, pressing Barry close, and thrusts up with short, desperate jerks of his hips, and groans when he comes, so deep inside Barry.

Barry lets his head fall on Len’s shoulder and doesn’t think of anything. His brain feels empty and happy like a helium-filled balloon, and Len’s hands are stroking his nape and shoulders tenderly. Barry likes it, and likes still having Len inside even though neither of them is quite ready to go for another round.

Eventually, Barry lifts himself completely off Len’s cock - and yeah, here is the soreness that he’s gonna feel for at least half an hour - and flops on the bed. He pulls at Len’s arm, and Len indulges him, stretching out next to him after he’s taken off the condom, tied it and thrown it away on the floor. They trade sloppy kisses as their breaths finally even out and hearts stop beating quite so fast. Well, Barry’s is still going pretty freaking fast but at, you know, normal speed for him.

“So,” Barry says and feels Len tense almost imperceptibly. “I’ve been wanting to ask but, uhm, there’s never been an opportune moment... what do you do in your free time?”

“What?”

“I mean, do you have any hobbies? Outside being a supervillain, that is. I bet you read a lot. You seem the type to self-educate and then throw Socrates quotes around to impress people. Or maybe you’re not, I don’t know. But that’s why I’m asking. Cause I don’t know, you know. What does a supervillain do to relax?”

Len’s expression seems to be clearly saying that Barry is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever seen in his life.

“I do read, although I prefer fiction most days. Any genre, as long as it’s written well. Also, I bake. And I like shark week.”

“Sharks and baking, huh?” Barry muses. “Do you ever make shark-shaped cookies? With sugar teeth and marzipan eyes. And fins made from almond shavings!”

“Sounds like an atrocity,” Len says. He’s smiling though, so Barry doesn’t take it personally.

“What about you, Scarlet? Any hobbies you manage to fit in between saving kittens from trees?”

“I’ll have you know I once saved a pet snake from a tree.” Barry sticks his tongue out at Len. “Although, it was named Fluffy so I expected a kitten, and when I got up the tree and only saw this huge-ass snake, I spent some time panicking and trying to figure out the best way to tell a little girl that a snake apparently ate her kitten...”

Len’s shoulders are shaking with laughter. Barry grins, feeling inexplicably smug.

“And in my free time I, well, I like watching musicals. And Star Trek. And I sing sometimes.”

“Sing, huh?”

Barry shrugs.

“I was in a glee club at school. And I always liked music, so I just sing when I can, sometimes when I cook or clean.”

“Care to demonstrate?”

Barry would be shy about it but tonight, Len has already seen much more private parts of him. Besides, he sort of misses singing to an audience, something that he realized that one time when he went out for drinks with Caitlin.

“Won’t we disturb people in the other rooms?”

“It’s a high-class place. I doubt they don’t have the rooms sound-proofed. And also,” Len smiles wickedly, “if they are not, then our neighbors have most likely already been very much disturbed.”

Barry feels a bit flustered at that but still gives in and belts out a respectable acapella rendition of Bryan Adams’s ‘Run To You’. In retrospect, it’s not the best choice because it makes it sound like Barry’s cheating on someone with Len, but there’s no one, really. Barry’s entire love life at this period in time consists of singing in the darkness of a hotel room and Len’s gleaming smile as he listens, rapt. Barry knows that it’s all a very temporary fluke based on lust only and not something he can run to anytime in the future, despite what the song says.

Still, he has it right now so he sings, much to Len’s delight.

* * *

In the morning, he gets away while Len is still asleep. His quiet escape is almost foiled when he slips on a small puddle of what has leaked out of the used condom - ew! - but he catches himself at the last moment, wipes yesterday’s spank off his foot with a hotel tissue (ew! Ew!) and leaves.

He knows it’s a bit of an asshole move but after last night he doesn’t want Len turning into Cold again when he wakes up. Mornings after are horrible as a rule, but this one is bound to be excruciating.

A sucker and an asshole, he’s really got everything going for him, doesn’t he. Barry figures it’s karma getting him back right away when he realizes that he is late for work again and he is still wearing yesterday’s clothes stained with curry. And yeah, he forgot all of his takeout in the hotel room.

Ugh.

* * *

Caitlin is nowhere close to working out how to reverse Mona’s powers but she has some encouraging insight.

“Judging by all the other documented cases, her powers don’t just change people’s bodies but also set a condition for release. Most of the time it seems to be to last until she gets away, although in your case, it’s clearly not what is meant to happen.”

“So what could the condition be?” Barry asks eagerly. He is seriously not into having to change all his licenses.

Caitlin glares at him disapprovingly for some reason. Cisco looks like a very entertained fly on the wall.

“I can’t know for sure but judging by your completely inappropriate and offensive comment back there and her reaction, I think you need to wait until, well, your period. So you can think before you speak next time.”

Barry tries to make himself as small as possible under Caitlin’s glare and gives her puppy eyes until she relents and teaches him what he needs to know for when his period starts. His period. Man, this is not going to be fun.

* * *

It’s been five weeks, and the period is still not here. Caitlin is worried and subjects him to an infinite number of tests.

“I don’t understand,” she mutters, looking into her microscope. “You are perfectly healthy and it’s past time for your period to begin... what could be causing this delay?”

“He’s got the man parts, too, maybe this is the issue?” Cisco offers. “It’s not like Barry’s pregnant or something.”

“Hmm,” Caitlin says and takes more blood from Barry. Honestly, sometimes he suspects she might be a vampire. Maybe she is hoarding all that blood in the lab fridge and drinks it late at night when no one can see. He wouldn’t be surprised, although perhaps a little hurt that she didn’t think she could just tell her friends about her unfortunate condition.

Barry and Cisco are in the middle of a passionate discussion about the coolest space captains (Cisco is a retrograde and prefers Kirk to everyone else while Barry is more than partial to Peter Quill) when Caitlin makes a strangled sound. They look at her, slightly alarmed, and she whirls around on her chair, pointing an accusing finger at Barry.

“Barry! Did you - did you go and sleep with some guy?! After what the Surgeon did to you?”

Yeah, they are calling her the Surgeon. Cisco is very proud of this one.

“Yes?” Barry says, anxious. “But...”

“Don’t you ‘but’ me, Bartholomew Henry Allen!” Caitlin growls.

She never pulls the full name on him. He must have done something really wrong, and the worst part, he doesn’t even know what.

“Do you know why your period is not coming?” she continues. “Because. You. Are. Pregnant.”

“What?” Barry falls off his chair. Literally falls off like this is a slapstick comedy, only he’s not laughing. “No, no, you’ve got it all wrong, I can’t be, we used a con-”

The last syllable gets stuck in his throat as he remembers with crystal clarity how Len tied off the condom and how Barry almost brained himself in the morning slipping on what leaked out. Out of a tied off condom.

Oh god. Oh god, it broke. The condom broke.

He’s pregnant.

He looks up at Caitlin and feels like crying because what else can he do at this point?

“I’m pregnant,” he says.

Her face softens and she gets on her knees to hug him.

“I know,” Caitlin says soothingly as Barry hides his face in her hair. “I know. Don’t worry, Barry, it’s gonna be okay.”

“Holy shit,” Cisco says. He looks shell-shocked but he is an awesome friend because he joins the hug too.

Barry is grateful to have them both in his life.

“We have to discuss your options,” Caitlin says gently.

“Options?”

“You need to decide if you want to keep the baby,” she explains.

Barry swallows.

“I, I don’t know. I, I...” he fumbles, physically unable to say anything else.

“It’s your decision,” Caitlin tells him. “And you don’t have to decide right now, you have a few months until it becomes too unsafe to perform an abortion. Whatever you decide, we’ll support you. Right, Cisco?”

“Of course!” Cisco chimes in without missing a beat. “Whatever you want to do, dude, we’ve got your back.”

Barry climbs back to his feet and onto a chair. It’s more comfortable and he needs to think. Chairs in the Cortex are good for thinking, or so he hopes. Cisco has had many groundbreaking ideas here, at least, and Barry could really use one of those right about now.

“I don’t want to pry,” Caitlin says which is how Barry knows she totally wants to pry but tries to hold herself in check, “but are you going to tell the father? The other father? Well, that guy?”

“I don’t know,” Barry repeats and rubs his face with his hands. “It was a one-night stand, really. I don’t think he’s gonna be interested in an unexpected baby. Which I might not even keep.”

“Who is it?” Cisco asks because he is not constrained with propriety like Caitlin and he is obviously dying to know. “Who’s the guy? Do we know him? Does he know you’re the Flash?”

“You know him, and he knows I’m the Flash, yes.” Barry is withholding the name. He is in shock, not stupid. He doesn’t want to be yelled at again right now.

He sighs. In the end, Len has a right to know, even if he’s probably not going to care and Barry is probably going to get an abortion from Caitlin. It doesn’t feel right to keep something like this from Len.

“I’ll talk to him,” Barry says, ignoring his friends’ sharp looks - of course they have caught on to him hiding the name, and he really doesn’t want to know what kind of theories they are coming up with. “Not right now, but I will. Right now I want ice-cream. Do we have ice-cream?”

Comfort food is the best. Barry eats a gallon of peanut butter and chocolate ice-cream and doesn’t think about how the cold sensation reminds him of his nemesis. No, he doesn’t think about that at all.

* * *

Barry dithers around for another week, but he can’t really postpone it for much longer. Caitlin has taken to regulating his diet, claiming that mountains of pizza and burgers aren’t good for the baby and whether he’s planning to keep it or not, there’s no reason to torture it with nutritionless grease in the meantime. Joe’s been giving Barry really weird looks seeing how Barry eats bags of carrots and tomatoes and drinks protein smoothies now, and Barry can’t really explain what is going on, especially considering that he’s yet to fess up about the whole being temporarily a hermaphrodite thing. Yeah. Barry lies sometimes to get out of embarrassing and difficult things, like mentioning to his adoptive father that he has acquired lady parts recently. In his defense, he really thought it’d blow over soon, and it _would have_, if Barry didn’t give into the temptation and sleep with Len. Or if, you know, he at least kept a newer and more reliable condom in his wallet. In retrospect, he’d put that thing in there back before he was struck by lightning, so what did he expect, really? 

Also, he’s been terrified this whole time that a new meta would show up and hurt him, really hurt him and then what would happen to him and the future baby both? Better to get the conversation over with and then go to Caitlin.

Yes, Barry has decided. Now he just needs to stop being a coward and go inside Saints and Sinners so he can tell his nemesis he’s carrying his baby. No biggie.

He’d much rather prefer to fight Eobard Thawne again.

Saints and Sinners is full of people at this late hour. The light is dimmed, and the cigarette smoke in the air is thick. As soon as Barry steps is, he’s awash by the noise of talking, some rock-n-roll playing quietly in the background, glasses clinking.

He looks around, hoping to spot Len - if the man’s not here, Barry has no idea where else to find him tonight - and for once in his life, he is in luck. Len is right there, in a black jacket instead of the parka, playing pool with some guy Barry doesn’t know, a glass whiskey on the pool table by Len’s elbow.

Barry walks over, and Len’s companion notices Barry first. He says something to Len, and the latter turns around. The mischievous curiosity on his face is immediately replaced with a sneer. Barry wants to turn around and walk right out after seeing that face change but he’s braver than that, or so he tells himself.

“I need to talk to you,” he tells Len.

“Excuse me,” Len says to his pool partner.

Barry waits as Len lays down the cue and picks up his whiskey, then follows Len to a booth where it’s more private. Maybe he should stop calling Len ‘Len’ in his head. It’s clearly ‘Cold’, for all that Barry doesn’t see the cold gun anywhere.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Scarlet,” Cold says after they are seated.

Barry doesn’t know what that means. ‘Didn’t think you’d be so stupid as to come here by yourself again’, ‘Didn’t know you’d have the guts to demand a conversation after you ditched me in the morning like a complete asshole’, ‘Didn’t expect you’d be so naive as to come and ask something from me of all people, again’? Cold is undecipherable, but decoding his cryptic statements is not what Barry’s here for.

“You, uh, I guess you remember when we met in that diner a few weeks ago. And... after. Right?”

Cold nods, a smirk tugging at his lips. He twirls the whiskey glass in his hands.

“Vividly,” he says, and Barry blushes despite himself. “What of it?”

“Well, turns out, the condom we used was a bit faulty. And, erm, considering how we did it, exactly, there were some, well, some unexpected consequences.”

Cold leans forward, the whiskey and the smirk forgotten.

“What are you trying to say, Barry?”

Barry takes a deep breath. He’s been beating around the bush long enough.

“I’m pregnant,” he says.

He waits for some kind of acknowledgement but Cold seems frozen, for lack of a better word. Barry looks at the table because it’s easier like this.

“It’s, uh, it’s definitely yours cause I haven’t been with anyone else since the Surgeon, I mean Mona, used her powers on me. So I thought I’d tell you. Don’t worry, I’m not expecting anything from you, in fact, I’ll be getting an abortion, like, first thing tomorrow. I mean, I can’t have a baby, right, I’m a man, legally at least? And I need to be out there helping people and I don’t think fighting when pregnant is a good idea for many reasons, so, yeah. I just thought you needed to know even if you don’t want to have anything to do with me and you don’t care about a baby, right? Right. I, well, I’d just like to know that if it were me. In your shoes. So I came here to tell you.”

Maybe he should have picked the debate club in school instead of glee. Perhaps then he wouldn’t be word-vomiting all over the place feeling like he’s drowning on dry land.

He shuts up with an effort of will and risks looking at Len - Cold, dammit, Cold - again.

Cold’s face is still blank and he’s not saying anything. Likely astonished by Barry’s stupidity in coming here and dumping all of that on him, like he’s supposed to give any fucks.

Barry swallows and gets up.

“Well, you know now. I guess my mission is complete, here,” he says and even manages to get out a broken chuckle. “Uhm... be seeing you around, Cold. I think.”

He heads out before he can make an even bigger ass of himself. Cold doesn’t stop him.

* * *

Next morning greets him with this annoying little rain. He dodges the sparse water droplets as he runs but he still ends up with wet hair and sleeves by the time he arrives at the Star Labs.

He always thought he’d be a father someday, but obviously he never expected to be the mother in the equation. And he’s not ready, anyway. Not now and not like this. He is doing the right thing.

Still. Barry is not a crazy prolifer but he likes kids. He knows he’s probably gonna be reminded about this one, the one he never had but sort of wanted but really couldn’t, for the rest of his life. Maybe with guilt, maybe with just sadness, maybe with a longing for what could have been if things were different. Just one more thing to think about when he’s down and depressed and having a pity party.

“It’ll be over quick and you won’t even feel anything,” Caitlin promises, looking very serious in her white lab coat.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s just get this over with?”

When the pregnancy is gone, he’ll get a period soon enough, and then he’ll be back to business as usual like this never happened. He’s looking forward to it very much.

“Since it’s still early, the best way to go is medicine, not surgery.” Caitlin hands him a small plastic cup with a pill in it. “Here, take this now. In a couple of days there’ll be another pill, then maybe a third one just to be sure. I’ll monitor you the whole time so we know that everything is going well.”

Barry nods.

“Can I have some water?” he never liked swallowing pills dry. They always feel like they get stuck in his esophagus and sit there until they dissolve.

Caitlin fusses with the cooler, filling a Star Labs mug. Barry is waiting for her, sitting on the bed in their small medbay and dangling his feet. Just a minute, and he’ll be well on his way to restoring normalcy, or what passes for it these days.

A loud crash makes Caitlin flinch and drop the mug. Barry is there to catch it mid-air, and then he flashes off to where the sound came from - the Cortex.

There, in the semi-circle of computer tables, stands Cold with the gun out. What could he possibly want right now? Barry’s a little busy.

“What do you want?” he voices his question, experiencing a bit of déjà vu and feeling more than a little pissed. First the man knocks him up, then blows him off in a conversation (he could have at least been civil about it instead of not even dignifying Barry’s ramblings with a response), and now he comes here all gun blazing, before Barry has even had breakfast? Cold’s got some nerve.

“Don’t do it,” Cold blurts out, lowering the gun. Cisco in the corner looks like he’s had a mini heart attack from a sudden supervillain invasion but otherwise unharmed.

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t get an abortion. Have the baby. You - you haven’t done it yet, have you?” His eyes are searching Barry anxiously as if he’s trying to see through Barry’s clothes and flesh whether there’s something in the womb or not.

Barry shakes his head mutely, and Cold’s shoulders relax a bit. He holsters the gun and stalks over to Barry, taking Barry’s hands in his.

“Please, Barry. Have the baby. I’ll do everything I can to help you, I’ll provide anything you need. I won’t commit any crimes, okay? Please, just consider it.”

Cold’s eyes are a little bit crazy and there are shadows underneath them as if he didn’t sleep last night. He’s wearing the same clothes from the bar, and his hands are warm in Barry’s.

“But my job,” Barry protests.

“You can take some leave. Take an unpaid one, I have enough money for ten lifetimes.”

Stolen money, Barry reminds himself, but it doesn’t seem like the best moment to bring it up. Besides, it’s not the point, and if, hypothetically, he agreed to this madness, he’d provide for himself just fine. He’s got that fake-Wells inheritance lying around and not being used for anything.

“But the Flash, protecting people...”

“I’ll protect the city,” Cold promises as if it’s as easy as that. “I’ll go on patrols and fight. Cisco and Dr. Snow will help, and Mick and Lisa, too.”

“But I’m a man! Okay, physically I’m a hermaphrodite right now, it doesn’t mean I can have a baby! Or should!” Barry’s voice reaches an unhealthily high octave because really, this is the crux of the matter. He is freaked out beyond reason, and he is so afraid, and his friends are supportive but it doesn’t mean that the idea of actually going through with it doesn’t fill Barry’s stomach with dread and his head with increasingly bad scenarios ranging from very plausible to giving birth through his dick in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.

...Barry has a very active imagination.

Cold pulls him forward and kisses him on the lips.

“Oh, man, it’s Captain Cold,” Cisco all but squeaks from his corner. “Dude, you slept with Captain Cold!”

Well. Duh.

Barry closes his eyes, relaxing into the kiss. It’s sweet and soft, and very easy to relax into.

Barry sighs against Cold’s lips, leaning their foreheads together.

“It’s crazy,” he tells Cold and feels the answering nod. “It’s the most batshit thing that’s ever happened to me, and it’s saying something, you know.”

Cold laughs, little puffs of air warming Barry’s mouth. Screw it, Barry’s going to call him Len. If there are any objections, Len can voice them, but until then Barry will do what he wants.

“I don’t know if I can,” he tells Len. Honesty feels like opening himself throat to groin and presenting his raw insides to the world. “I’m scared, Len. You come here and promise to fix everything but I don’t know if I can trust you so much. Trust you with the city, and the baby, and myself, and literally everything.”

Len nods, as if he hasn’t expected anything less.

“I promise that you can, but promises are just words,” he says. “You’ll need to see me put my money where my mouth is. It’s smart, Scarlet. But the thing is, you can’t only do it because of me. Do you want to do it? For yourself?”

It’s a selfless thing to say, considering that Len seems to desperately want this baby and Barry was just about to get an abortion a few minutes ago. It wins Len a few points in Barry’s eyes.

“I don’t know, I - kind of do, but it’s obviously such a dumb decision.” He tries for a smile and it feels like he fails. “I might be dumb for even thinking about it.”

“You’re not. And if you do want it, you should go for it.” Len raises Barry’s hand to his mouth and kisses Barry’s knuckles. “If you do, I’ll be with you every step of the way. Please.”

He doesn’t add anything more. Ultimately, it’s Barry’s decision and he can see Len is trying not to push more than he already has.

Barry appreciates it.

“I’m gonna do it,” he says, his lips numb, and adrenaline is flooding him like he’s taking a jump off a cliff. “I’m gonna have this baby.”

Len stares at him, disbelief and relief and reverent joy warring in his face. This time it’s Barry who leans in and steals a kiss.

“What is going on?” he hears behind him.

Joe’s timing is, as always, impeccable.

“Congratulations, Detective West,” Len drawls without letting go of Barry, their bodies flush together. “You’re going to be a grandfather.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“He doesn’t know?” Len glances at Barry, and Barry grimaces.

He looks back at Joe and gives an awkward wave.

“Surprise?”

Barry can tell already, it’s going to be a long and exhausting day. At least he lets himself hope he’s not going to have to go through it alone.

He gives Len another peck on the lips and starts explaining things to Joe.

Later though, he finds Cisco and asks the latter to make sure they are ready for a possible zombie apocalypse starting in Central City.

Just in case.

The End


End file.
